


The Storm that Stalked the Shadow

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Eavesdropping, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Peeping, Semi-Public Sex, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut, Troublesome dynamic of two stubborn rulers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: Daenerys finds herself inexplicably drawn to the King in the North and sets out on a stealthy quest to figure out why. After several attempts to spy and eavesdrop, she finally catches him in an irresistible and compromising position, testing both her morality as well as her queenly resolve.





	The Storm that Stalked the Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meisie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meisie/gifts).



> Setting: Dragonstone, a bit before Jon decides to go to Eastwatch. Canon diverges...
> 
> Written for the Jonerys Valentine's Week event over on Tumblr, the prompt being Voyeurism/Public sex. 
> 
> First I want to thank my girl Meisie for letting me use one of her original settings at Dragonstone (as seen in Act III below) in exchange for hot, hot smut.
> 
> Yet more thanks to FourTrisHEA and Longerclaw for helping both inspire and encourage me to write this nonsense, as well as help with ironing out a few details, such as trying to keep this as in-character as I could manage with such a saucy prompt!
> 
> This is explicit. If that's not your thing—it's not too late to turn back, now! :P 
> 
> Otherwise, have at it, perverts!

It'd been weeks since Daenerys had summoned Jon Snow to Dragonstone. Initially, she hadn't expected much of the northern bastard, notorious though he seemed to be—whatever it was she had expected of him, he certainly wasn't that. Most men in positions of power who dared to question her had been over-confident and made the poor choice of underestimating her based solely on her gender. _This northern king should be no different_ , she had once assumed.

 

Yet, somehow, Jon Snow challenged her in an entirely different way. He stood before her, obstinate and impudent, yet respectful all the while—never failing to address her as a queen, humbly chipping away at her resolution in doing the opposite. Every ' _my lord_ ' uttered from her lips felt like a small blow to the ego she had so carefully constructed over the years, though she knew that it hadn't been the intention of the unassuming king at all.

 

As the days pressed on, Jon had done nothing but stoke the flame of Daenerys' curiosity. _Why?_ she wondered, as he offered her so little in return, aside from vague answers to her questions. Most days he was hidden away, working alongside his men in the mines, only emerging long enough for supper before retiring for the night. Tyrion had almost always dominated dinner conversation, much to her chagrin. His companionship had been a gift, no doubt, but just once she wished to hear from the King in the North directly, rather than trying to extract what she could from overheard conversations and hushed whispers.

 

Whenever her mind wandered to Jon, her feet unwittingly moved of their own volition—carrying her to wherever she suspected she might find him. One, two, even three times this had happened without raising any flags for the humble northerner. Soon, finding what Jon had been up to had become something of a pastime for the queen, verging on obsession—and he was bound to catch on eventually.

 

From the moment she glimpsed his dark eyes, she could sense something dangerous lurking there in the depths. At first it manifested as conflict, the inescapable tug of the rip currents that lie in wait, just tempting her to wade further in. His gaze never failed to stir within her lust and doubt in equal measure. Even the most fleeting of his glances had the power to bend to his will each fiber of her being—it might've begun with dragonglass, though who knows where it would end, or if it would end at all.

 

Just before dusk, Daenerys paced the beach not far from the cave, nonchalantly staring off into the sky as the waves licked the sunset. Just as the sun had begun to dip into the water, she spotted the men she'd lent to Jon Snow walking back to the castle, likely for supper. She waited behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of her new, enigmatic ally, yet he never emerged. Glancing around, no one appeared to be watching her, save for a few protective Dothraki guards. Unlike the suspicious Unsullied, they seemed to understand what she'd been up to, and let her be when she waved them off. And so, she slipped into the cave, mostly unnoticed.

 

Taking careful steps so as not to disturb the strewn stone and glass, Daenerys tiptoed her way through the cave system. Even without a torch, she effortlessly found her way to the place she knew she'd find him—the same place she revisited whenever she felt lost or misguided, unsure of her own steadfast, stubborn quest for her father's throne. Often, she'd come to stare into the carved, hollow faces of the enemy the king swore had been coming for them all—just wondering if the throne she'd fought so hard for would be taken from her by this unfathomable, alien threat, assuming she managed to claim it at all.

 

With a torch resting on the ground, Jon stood before the petroglyphs in the dimly-lit opening.

He had his back to a cave wall, standing with arms folded as he gazed into the engraved faces of his enemies, his gorget and brigandine, uncharacteristically discarded on the cave's floor. The struggling flame threw ominous shadows across the crude, ancient etches. The small, twisted figures mocking, the flickering light giving the illusion they were on the march. Unable to stop herself from gasping at the eerie trick of the light, Daenerys clamped a hand over her mouth, internally cursing herself.

 

"Who's there?" he called, turning his head enough to visually inspect the dark and narrow passageway.

 

Daenerys stood still, unmoving, _unbreathing_ , hoping to remain unnoticed.

 

As he intently listened, she held her breath, to dizzying effect. Her blood abandoned her extremities, rushing to her center, leaving behind a whirring in her ears and cold fingers on her lips. She felt the pang of her heart beating everywhere _but_ her chest— _strangely_ , even between her thighs. Somehow, spying on this man had given her a rush in more ways than one.

 

By now it was far too late to reveal herself, so she stayed as still as a statue, certain there was no way to come out of this without appearing silly. Slowly, Jon lifted his tired body from the cave wall, moving his head from side to side as he stared into the darkness where she'd stood.   _Does he see me?_ she wondered briefly, until she fixated on the dark voids of his eyes—pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another, already wading too far into their depths, even from a distance... _searching..._

 

" _Your Grace?_ "

 

 _Damn_ , she thought, clenching her eyes shut and letting the aged air trickle from her lungs with a silent exhale of defeat. Just as she was about to reveal herself, Jon slumped against the wall again, sighing. "Of course not," he whispered, almost to the cadence of her heartbeat. The overworked muscle sending small pinpricks all over her body, as if shards of dragonglass had infiltrated her blood. Even her fingertips pulsed with sharp throbs of pain.

 

When she opened her eyes again, Jon had been rubbing his neck—the flickering light exposing a sheen of sweat on his forehead, likely from another arduous day stripping the cave of its glass.

 

His hands traveled from his neck to the hanging fabric of his tunic, lifting the material up and exposing a side-view of his abdomen. Daenerys fought a second urge to gasp upon seeing a hint of the V-shaped furrow of his hips. Like his forehead, his belly glistened, beads of sweat traveling over his skin, nestling between the defined ridges of his muscles. He remained on full display as he folded the fabric to the underside, bringing it up to his face to cleanly wipe away the bothersome perspiration.

 

All too soon, the fabric fell back into place, nearly knocking the wind from her as she spied. Jon moved to gather his belongings before picking the torch up from the ground. _Shit_ , Daenerys thought, unsure what to do with herself now that he was preparing to leave. Slowly, she retraced her steps, backward, running her hands along the wall, hoping for some sort of recess. Luckily, there'd been an alcove small enough to squeeze into, a protrusion just above the opening that might just shield her from his view. Doubling over, she managed to tuck herself into the space, dragging her stiff skirts inside just as the torchlight illuminated the passage.

 

Jon's boots came to a halt mere inches from where she hid, and so she held her breath, fisting her skirts with shaking fingers, hoping to remain still. After another agonizing few seconds, the boots started forward again, leaving her behind in the dark cave, alone and undiscovered.

 

.  .  .

 

Both Jon and Daenerys attended supper late that evening, garnering both curious looks and suspicious glances—particularly from her Hand. Tyrion eyed both the king and queen, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as she approached her usual seat beside him, a look to which she pointedly shook her head _no_. Her expression had said it all— _of course_ Jon Snow hadn't been what kept her! Their wordless exchange had not been lost on the sullen northerner, who settled further into his seat. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together as if shielding himself from her gaze, looking disappointed or rejected, somehow. In truth, it _had_ been Jon who kept her, but he was the last person she wished to know.

 

An hour or more had passed, with most of the attendees already having retired to their rooms for the night. Daenerys lingered behind, Jon Snow sitting across the table from her, avoiding her gaze all the while. The way he managed to so thoroughly ignore her felt almost _maddening_ , though she couldn't bring herself to interrupt the long discussion he'd been having with Ser Davos. After all, the older man, with the aid of imported Essosi wine, had the rare ability to coax a half-dozen or so chuckles from his king—a captivating sight, indeed.

 

Her constant leering at the handsome king had been discreet enough for all but Tyrion, who encouraged her departure as he excused himself for the night. Hesitantly, she agreed, moving to follow him out of the hall after saying a few farewells. It was then that Jon's gaze finally pierced her like a hook, leaving her utterly deflated. For too many consecutive seconds, they stared at each other, unblinking. _What are you thinking, Jon Snow?_ she wondered, as Tyrion cleared his throat behind her, impatiently waiting.

 

Their eye contact had been broken briefly as she shot her Hand a sidelong glance. Turning back to Jon, her lips quivered as she pulled the reluctant words from her mind. "Sleep well, Your Grace," she said, abandoning all desire to refer to him as a mere lord.

 

Jon blinked several times, stunned by her sudden change of heart. He rose from his chair, looking as if he wished to reply, but no words came. They exchanged a polite nod, the anchor holding her in the moment cut loose, freeing her to return to the responsible decision—retiring to her room. _Alone_.

 

However, at the end of the hallway, she parted ways with her Hand, making some poor excuse that she'd forgotten something in the dining hall. Tyrion wished her a good night, suspicion lining all of his features. _I don't care what he thinks_ , she thought, as she watched him glide around the corner and out of sight. Her heart began racing once more as she slipped off her boots, carefully tiptoeing her way back, nestling against the wall as she listened in.

 

Luckily, she could make out their conversation, even through the bells chiming away in her ears.

 

"I don't believe you," Davos said.

 

"Well, you should," Jon sighed. "I told you, I was in the cave— _alone_."

 

"I saw the way she looked at you."

 

"And how did she look at me?" he queried with a huff.

 

"Like she's got a hunger and can't seem to get full."

 

Jon snorted with a burst of laughter even before Davos even finished his sentence, "Come _off_ it," he insisted, "Besides, I already told you, there's no time for that."

 

"Uh huh," Davos groaned, "Just another thing I don't _quite_ believe."

 

Heaving a sigh in response, Jon's voice dropped as Daenerys strained to listen, "Look, she's beautiful, there's no denyin' that. _Of course_ I'm interested, as you love to point out..." he paused.

 

" _But?_ " Davos asked after a moment.

 

"I'm just a bastard."

 

"You're _King_ in the North," the older man hastily corrected him, with the same conviction he'd used upon their first meeting in her throne room.

 

"Maybe not for long," Jon said, quieter still.

 

 _What?_ she stifled another gasp as she eavesdropped. _Does he mean to kneel to me? Finally?_

 

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footfalls began echoing inside the room. They were preparing to leave. Clutching her boots tightly to her chest, Daenerys took off, her stockinged feet colliding against the floor in a series of muffled thumps. She made it around the corner just in time, taking a quick breath as she peered around it, watching Ser Davos and his king walking in the opposite direction down the hallway, toward their guest quarters.

 

 _What am I doing?_ she wondered as she dragged herself back to her own chambers. The rush from spying on the northerner causing the dull thud to reappear between her legs, hollow and aching. She began disrobing, herself, rather than waiting on Missandei's usual assistance. Standing naked before her mirror, she unraveled her hair as her mind painted images of Jon's hands roaming her body as if he stood behind her—his thick, honeyed accent replaying in her mind like a song's chorus, _She's beautiful._

 

 _Oh, Jon Snow_ , she thought, letting a pair of soft fingers slip between her thighs, regretful they were her own, rather than those of his strong, calloused hands. _You're beautiful, too_.

 

.  .  .

 

Though she drifted off once or twice through the night, Daenerys couldn't sleep. Feeling like a silly maiden, her mind wouldn't stop taunting her with the fleeting image she'd glimpsed of Jon's body, or the conversation she'd overheard after dinner— _Of course I'm interested._

 

 _I just need a bath_ , she told herself. Perhaps a good soak could clear it up—that nagging urge to have _more_ of him in whatever way she could, so desperate she'd resorted to _sneaking_ and _spying_. Cringing at her earlier actions, Daenerys slipped on a robe, not even bothering to dress her feet before wandering into the chilled hallways.

 

Unsure what time it'd been, except that it was still dark out—the journey to the bathhouse had been a dreamlike haze she could hardly remember. She slipped in, carefully closing the door behind her, unsurprised to find it vacant in the unknown twilight hour. Candlelight from only a few waxy stumps just barely illuminated the room, as the steam rose from the pool just beyond. Wafts of warm, humid air cut through the chill, harkening back to her time in Essos, already coaxing her into a more relaxed state. Swiftly, she moved to a bench adjacent to the water, untying the robe already slipping from her shoulders, wearing nothing at all underneath, not even stockings.

 

Just then, a small creak came from the door she'd just closed. Perhaps it'd been the guilt she felt for all her recent spying, but Daenerys acted on instinct—clutching together her robe as she sprinted behind a changing screen on the far side of the room, unsure she wanted to be left out in the open, naked and exposed to whoever else had been lurking around at such an hour.

 

Dropping to her knees, she peered through the tight, carved lattice of the screen, squinting to identify the figure. _Jon Snow_. He stood opposite to where she had nearly disrobed, first, letting his hair down from his tightly-wound bun. _What incredible hair_ , she thought, upon seeing, for the first time, the full nest of loose ringlets finally springing free of their constraint.

 

Wide-eyed, she spied him, even ignoring the urge to blink her dry eyes as he began to disrobe, not wishing to lose even a millisecond. Grasping the bottom of his undershirt, he pulled it off in one swift motion, letting it fall to the ground before moving to unlace his trousers. Daenerys ran a tongue along her bottom lip before driving her teeth into it, fighting the urge to whimper upon seeing the musculature of his back on full display as they danced, deliciously, just under his skin. Before removing the rest of his clothes, Jon paused, taking a moment to look around.

 

Behind the lattice, Daenerys took stunted breaths, as silently as she could manage, feeling the ache of her frozen muscles, afraid to move, afraid to give herself up by making any amount of noise. _Don't be shy, Jon Snow_ , her inner-voice begged, willing him to continue, to remove the last of his clothes.

 

 _I need to see you_.

 

_Please._

 

Perhaps satisfied that he had, in fact, been _alone_ , Jon let his trousers pool at his feet. Thankful she hadn't the breath to gasp, Daenerys gaped at his backside—every _gods-damned_ muscle in this man's body had been sculpted to perfection—unblemished as if carved from stone and sanded smooth. Her fingers tingled, begging to meet his skin—to trace the divots at the top of his thighs... before wandering across to the V-shaped dimple above the cleft between his cheeks. _Gods be good_.

 

Fully exposed now, Jon moved to the opposite end of the pool. _He wants to watch the door_ , she assumed, the guilt slowly trickling back in—though she couldn't dare peel herself away. She stayed, silently planted on the marble floor behind the screen, spying the way his muscles ran the length of his thighs as he walked. Daenerys steadied her quivering body by placing her palms to the floor, literally bracing herself for it...

 

Though the breath he'd just taken from her had ensured her silence, she fought the urge to whimper, nonetheless, as Jon turned. Surprised to see a full erection beneath a thatch of dark curls, she all but pressed her face against the latticework to catch a better glimpse before it disappeared under the water. Even though the peek had been brief, her mouth flooded with saliva as if awaiting a meal, tongue preemptively swirling against the roof of her mouth, pleading for a chance to taste him.

 

 _Behave_ , the last gasps of her logical mind begged her with its final word, victim to her carnal desire—which came charging through, trampling any semblance of rationality. Her mouth hadn't been the only surge of wetness her body would endure, either. The once-dull thud between her legs had evolved to that of a pounding drum, as her excitement had manifested to a trickling headed right for her thighs.

 

 _Thighs_... Jon's, now submerged, thankfully gave Daenerys time to recollect herself. She brought a palm to her forehead, hoping to nurse the dizziness, to slow the spinning. As he settled into the sweltry pool with a wince, a few fevered grunts escaped his lips, which did nothing to quell her desires, rather, piquing her curiosity about the noises she might coax from _his_ lips with hers...

 

Hooking his left arm over the lip of the pool, he nestled into the corner. Once half-submerged and settled, Jon began glancing around again. This time apprehension had authored his expression, as his right hand began moving toward his groin, hesitant.

 

 _You're alone_ , she thought, _all alone..._

 

_Don't stop now._

 

Throwing his head back, Jon's curls splayed across the tile as his eyes fluttered closed, the water licking the edge of the pool where his arm worked to stroke himself beneath the waves, creating small splashes with each movement.

 

That had been the last straw for Daenerys. Shrugging her robe from her shoulders, she re-positioned behind the screen as best she could, parting her thighs and, mimicking Jon, letting a hand slip between them. In that moment she imagined that her cunt was Jon's palm, tightly wrapped around his cock, for which her two fingers were such a poor substitute...

 

Still eyeing him discreetly, she matched her rhythm to his, counting the waves he'd made from his strokes, and meeting them with curled thrusts—sharing in Jon's pleasure, to which he had no awareness of. With her mouth agape, a dribble ran down her lip as she drunkenly leered at the king's moment of weakness, an intruder into what should've been a private moment all to himself.

 

His lips parted, making way for a whisper, " _Dany_..."

 

Stunned, Dany fumbled as her wrist gave out, her back crashing into the ground with an audible thud, her thick silver mane providing enough cushion to protect her head from any real damage, _luckily_.

 

"Who's there?" he called.

 

 _Oh, no_ , she thought, knowing Jon could easily identify right where the sound had come from. The water splashed just beyond her, signifying he'd left the water—though she still lie flat against the cool marble, having chosen to rub away the soreness from her head before any attempt at scrambling to her feet, or somehow fleeing.

 

Swift and furious footsteps approached her hiding place all too quickly, and all she had time to do was draw remnants of her robe around her breasts just as Jon materialized before her.

 

His dark eyes doubled in size at the revelation—the anger melting from his features in favor of shock. The queen had probably been the last person he expected to see, particularly alone, unguarded, and in a state of undress. His hands traveled down, attempting to shield his erection from her, even though she'd been on the ground before him, half-naked, legs parted almost in _invitation_.

 

" _Your Grace?_ " he breathed, running his eyes from her bare toes to her mussed hair, slowing them as they passed the juncture of her thighs, open and on display. Dany hadn't even thought to shut her legs from his prying eyes, unsure even of her own intent, stuck somewhere in the limbo between the reality of their relationship—or _lack thereof—_ and the surreality of his sudden discovery of her, likewise on display, dripping for him despite never having touched the water.

 

Abandoning all formality, Dany licked her lips as she held eye contact with him, situating herself onto her knees. Boldly, a small, soft hand reached straight for his cock, hoping to guide it to her waiting mouth. Jon caught her by the wrist, " _No_."

 

A simple word it was, ' _No_ ', only two tiny letters. Yet it was enough to shatter her _—_ like a hammer had struck a pick against her heart, splintering it to pieces. Immediately, she regretted the decision, the repercussions of such a bold move stampeding through her mind. Her resolve had evaporated, sending a quiver straight through her limbs and to Jon's hand. _How can I possibly recover from this?_ she wondered.

 

"No, _Dany_ ," he said again, freely using this nickname she was _certain_ she hadn't told him.

 

He took a knee, bending down to her level. Buried somewhere in the far corners of her mind, the queen inside of her wanted to laugh at the irony. Finally, he dropped her arm, which fell lazily to her side, drained of blood and pricked with invisible needles. His large hands, likewise trembling, brushed past her neck to cradle her head in his palms.

 

"I just wanted to kiss you first," his hot breath lingered against her lips, the humid air sweetly stifling, inescapable.

 

" _Jon..._ "

 

Their lips met, gently at first, as if testing the waters. Then suddenly more frantic, making up for all the time they lost by keeping up appearances—finally admitting the truth that had been hidden just behind their irises all along, just waiting to leap forth from every polite gaze. All of those weighted stares between queen and king culminated in this torrid room—exhibited to each other, unmasked and uncrowned.

 

Merely tasting his tongue hadn't been enough to quench her thirst, her mouth fighting back each torrent gulp after gulp, demanding to take him properly between her lips. She broke their wet kiss, strands of saliva hanging, suspended from their mouths.

 

"Stand up, Jon," she commanded in a breathless voice that had been anything _but_ commanding.

 

"What?" he asked, taking care to wipe the residue from his bottom lip.

 

" _Stand up_."

 

Jon rose on shaking legs, giving her a queer look all the while. It was clear he felt uncomfortable being on display, especially at eye-level, his cock flushed pink and, from the looks of it, _painfully_ distended. His dark eyes, once waning crescents, now wide as full moons, taking in the unearthly sight of a queen gaping at his erection like a starved animal, his bewilderment preventing any further attempt to feign modesty.

 

Wobbling as she rose, her blood coursed through her, unsure where to go, which part of her body needed most assistance—Jon thankfully extended his hands to help her to her feet, leaving her robe behind in a puddle on the floor.

 

" _Daenerys..._ " his voice sizzled and hissed.

 

Guiding him to the edge of the pool, he followed her like lost child, his mind likely trying to make sense of the way his fantasy had manifested before him, silently tucked away behind a changing screen, just waiting to be discovered.

 

"Sit," she said, now at the water's edge.

 

First, Jon helped her into the pool before obeying her command. Again, he winced at the contrast in temperature, the water easily a dozen times hotter than the balmy air. As Dany had no aversion to the heat, herself, it gave her time to glimpse his scarred chest as his legs acclimated to the heat—counting seven wounds in all, in varying sizes.

 

He came to with another groan after planting his backside on the cool marble. Abandoning her curiosity, she took care to completely ignore the scars that had proved a painful part of his past. She could interrogate him about it later, now simply wasn't the time.

 

Raising herself up on her palms, she snaked between his legs and planted another wet kiss on his lips, though she didn't linger long. Trailing soft kiss from his lobe down his neck, she paid no more or less mind to his scars as her lips met them briefly, making her way further south. Jon shifted uncomfortably, offering subdued whimpers as payment.

 

Finally, she'd made it to her destination. Dipping a bit further into the water, she took a knee on the second step down. Positioning herself right under his lovely cock, they locked eyes as her tongue finally got its wish—slipping from parted lips for its first proper taste, swiping over the tip—already-seeping and slightly tangy.

 

A deep shiver matched another whimper, almost in vibrato, all of his muscles contracting at once as he shook. Even his eyes squeezed shut as he got acquainted with her mouth. Gently, she applied suction to his head—inciting another wince, another groan, more shifting... his gorgeous, pitch-dark eyes held captive behind clenched lids.

 

Dropping him from her mouth, "Open your eyes," she ordered. "Look at me."

 

This being the one setting he didn't dare challenge her, Jon opened his eyes, small slits veiled with thick, dark lashes. _That'll do_ , she thought, as she fished him back into her mouth with a stiff tongue, wetting more of his length on each pass. She brought a hand up to move in rhythm with her mouth until everything had been soaked through—his cock, her hands, and jaw. Saliva hung from his erection like fine threads before finally falling to the tiles. Breaking her suction with an audible pop, she grasped him steadily with one hand, taking nibbles along his length up to his head, causing his cock to jump in response. Once steady, she dragged her teeth softly across his skin, studying his reaction.

 

Jon struggled to keep eye contact with her as commanded, his full lips trembling as he watched hers, traveling his length, swallowing more of him on every pass. His excess skin gathered as a result, exposing his sensitive head to her throat. Each of his muscles clenched further every time her throat disobediently constricted, tightening around his head like a vise.

 

Raising his hips from the marble, he began meeting each of her movements with his own, gentle thrusts. As Dany's cunt surged with envy, she slipped a hand between her thighs for the third time that night, hoping it would be enough to pacify such an ache, as it'd been too late to stop or switch orifices. The rogue hand working her clit hadn't been lost on Jon—who responded in another series of stifled grunts and an expression somewhere between awe and disbelief. His groans had been even sweeter than she could've imagined—raspy and restrained. As his thrusting slowed to a halt, he fought to keep just one eye open amongst his scrunched face, staring down at her as he filled her mouth. As she swallowed it down, his cock twitched again with each gulp, leaving him as breathless and nearly wheezing after emptying into her.

 

" _Gods_ ," he managed a final whisper with hollow lungs, collapsing back onto the cool tiles.

 

Slithering her way out of the water, Dany traced kisses from his pelvis to his neck, over the scruff of his jaw and finally, his battered bottom lip—nearly wounded from having driven his teeth into it over and over. All the soft kisses and touches had managed to evoke a rare chuckle from the king—his smile, brighter than even a full moon, his hair splayed around his head like a crown... _Beautiful_ , she thought as she settled against him, admiring the sight as she etched it to her memory.

 

"You should smile more, Jon Snow," she cooed, just above a whisper.

 

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he wrapped two sweat-slicked arms around her, pulling her back on top of his tired, flushed body, "Now's as good a time as any to start, I'd say."

 

Trying to make sense of her slippery limbs, Dany settled into a straddling position on top of him, either leg hanging over his sides. Between her thighs, she could feel that he'd still been erect, and no doubt, he could feel her already dripping all over him—a syrupy wetness glaringly separate from the fleeting moisture of the pool just beyond their feet. With another twitch, his cock struck her, pushing her lips further apart, almost demanding entrance. In response, Dany let out a surprised, choked whimper all her own.

 

"Dany?" he asked, taking care to separate silver strands from her flushed, sweat-sheened cheeks before tucking them behind her ear.

 

" _Mmm?_ " had been all she could muster through the distraction of the rock-hard erection tucked between her legs, paying no mind to scold his strange term of endearment.

 

"Did you mean to... _spy_ on me?"

 

"Not this time," she admitted, a little too quickly.

 

Cocking an eyebrow, Jon asked for clarification, "What do you mean _this_ time?"

 

Expertly dodging his question, Dany smothered him with her lips, allowing herself a better taste of his tongue. She may have to answer for her sins later, but for now, they simply exchanged kisses as they worked to recover for a second round.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first one-shot. Be gentle! xD


End file.
